


A Shield's Promise

by avianscribe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe
Summary: Gladio and Noctis arejuststarting to understand each other when a kidnapping puts their newfound trust to the test.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101
Collections: FFXV Book Club 2020 Holiday Exchange





	A Shield's Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KaelinaLovesLomaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelinaLovesLomaris/gifts).



> Written for the FFXV Book Club holiday exchange! Merry Christmas! :>

It happened in a flash.

Gladio didn’t even have time to react; one moment, he was following Noctis through the market district as the young prince darted from stall to stall, and the next, he saw a flash of white and then he was blinking up at the sky, with a throbbing pain in his head. He leaned up on his elbows and blinked at the detritus in the alley he was laying in. This was definitely not where he had been before -- and worse, there was no sign of Noctis. 

Gladio groaned and fished in his pocket -- but to his alarm, his phone was gone. 

No Noctis, and no phone… 

But he needed to get in touch with _someone._

It had been a mere month since Noctis had rescued Iris -- had followed her, wandering into the parks outside the Citadel, in the dark and the rain. A month since Gladio had found renewed purpose in his charge to protect his Prince. And now he’d lost him already.

Gladio staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the alleyway, oblivious to the surprised outburst of some passersby. “Where is he?” he grumbled. But there was no one who could tell him, andthey seemed to be alarmed at the blood drying on his face. They couldn’t see how urgent this was. They insisted on making him sit down, and on calling emergency services, in spite of him insisting he was fine and that he needed to get to the Citadel. They seemed to think that he was delirious. He finally managed to borrow someone’s phone, managed to dial the Citadel emergency number that connected him with his father, managed to snap out the proper codes. 

Then there were people in official Crownsguard gear arriving; and a handful of Kingsglaive, and a medic was fussing with him, but he couldn’t focus on himself. He could only fret that Noctis was _gone_ and it had happened on _his watch_ and he needed to get away and find him.

* * *

Noctis woke up on a cot, wrapped in a scratchy blanket. 

His head felt fuzzy and his arms and legs all seemed like heavy weights, and somewhere in his mind he knew that this was bad news, but the thoughts seemed to evaporate as soon as he grasped for them.

He lay there a long time, staring at a grey ceiling with an industrial fluorescent light. 

Where was Gladio? He was supposed to stay with Gladio.

Noctis tried to sit up but he swayed and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He had to swallow several times. He sank back down onto the cot. 

Noct’s back hurt. Laying on this cot hadn’t done him any favors. He was vaguely annoyed that there wasn’t a pillow, but something told him he wasn’t likely to get one if he complained. He might be fuzzy still, but he was starting to piece things together.

An unfamiliar room.

An uncomfortable cot.

No Gladio.

No anyone else, really.

A tall door with a rectangular window over the doorknob meant that he was probably being held somewhere that people could check on him without actually coming into the room. 

He’d had some lessons about kidnappings; they were likely to happen. The people who did it probably didn’t want him dead, or he would be already. They usually wanted something from his dad. 

‘Cooperate as much as possible’ was the advice. ‘Someone will be coming to get you out of there.’

Noct’s head finally started to clear. He had just sat up again when he heard raised voices outside the door -- getting louder as they came closer. Then two faces appeared in the window. They wore knit caps, and the rest of their faces were obscured by black cloth. Noctis could only see their eyes, but their eyes were enough. They looked at him critically. He stared right back. 

Whoever they were, they chatted more with each other, and then there was a click and the doorknob turned and then they were in the room with Noctis. They were dressed mostly in black, and every part of the rest of them was covered, too -- though the tips of light brown hair poked out from under the beanie of the shorter one.

Noctis tried not to tense. He didn’t want them to see he was nervous.

“G’morning, young Prince,” the tall one said. “I’ve got a little job for you to do.” 

“I’m too young to have a job,” Noctis said. His voice hadn’t started changing yet, and for once he was grateful. He played up the Innocent Child look, blinking up at his captors.

The tall one’s eye twitched, but his cheeks bunched up under the mask, like he was smiling. “This’ll be an easy one. You just need to help me deliver a message.” 

“You’re gonna let me out?” Noctis asked.

“No, you idiot,” the second one growled, “You’re gonna--”

“Shh,” The first one put a hand on his friend’s arm.

Noctis kept his smile to himself. These guys were nervous and Noctis was a ticking time bomb. They knew it, and so did he. He just had to draw this out as long as possible so the Crownsguard had time to track him down. 

The trick was doing it in a way that wouldn’t tip them off or make them mad enough to hurt him. 

The tall one grabbed his attention again. “We just want you to read a message for our camera. We have it all written out for you; you just have to read it word for word.”

“You can read, can’t you?” the shorter one said.

“I’m not a baby,” Noctis snapped -- then chided himself. He was supposed to be getting under _their_ skin, not letting _them_ get under _his._

“Wouldn’t know, since you’re royalty and all; maybe you have someone else do all your reading _for_ you,” the second one said.

Not gonna get mad… not gonna…

The tall one took Noct’s arm and dragged him to his feet. “C’mon, we’ve got a room all set up.” 

The stuff they’d used to knock him out hadn’t completely worn off yet. He swayed on his feet, but their hands still dragged him along. His head was swimming and his stomach swooped -- and before he knew it, he heaved, and the lunch he’d had with Gladio came up and splattered all over the floor. 

The short one swore and jumped out of the way. The tall one, though, just gripped his arm tighter and dragged him along, apparently not caring when Noct’s shoes smeared through the mess.

They dragged him out of the room. 

Noctis did his best to remember any and all details of his surroundings, but there wasn’t much to remember. It was very bare and industrial, with doors leading off on both sides of a hallway, and no windows at all. The smell of Noct’s sick-up followed them. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than he needed to. 

The kidnappers bundled him into another room at the end of the hallway, and this one also had no windows, and a single chair in the center. This was where they dragged him, and the short one made quick work of tying him in place with thick rope around his chest, and his arms bound behind him. 

The short one wasn’t particularly careful, and the ropes bit into Noct’s wrist. He pulled against them, and the short one just pulled them tighter. “Careful, young prince,” he hissed. “Wouldn’t want you to lose a hand.” 

Noctis scowled over his shoulder at the guy, but he was too busy with the knots to notice.

Then there was a… was that a music stand? … set up in front of him, holding a piece of paper with something printed on it in a font just barely large enough for Noctis to read at this distance. And above it, they’d clipped a camera. Noctis eyed the lens gleaming balefully at him. 

“Okay,” said the tall one, “here’s how this will go. You’ll read this message straight, in one take. Don’t mess it up or we’ll make it miserable for you.” 

Noctis blinked at them.

“And… go.”

A red light on the front of the camera blinked on. Noctis knew this drill well enough from all the press conferences he’d seen. He had yet to be part of one, but he knew his turn was coming. 

Now to play this right.

He squinted at the paper. “I can’t read it,” he said. “It’s too far away.” 

The camera’s red light turned off. The short guy made a frustrated growl. He started to shift the music stand closer, but the tall guy stopped him. “Gotta make it look right. Don’t want the stand in the camera shot.”

“We can’t print another one,” the short one said. “We don’t have a printer here.”

“Then he’ll just have to do the best he can from where he is.”

Noctis could read it perfectly well. It was all the usual drivel -- and he definitely couldn’t read it on camera for all of Lucis to see. His dad was pretty clear about that. These guys were going to make him pretty miserable, but he had to hold out. 

“Hear that, kid?” the short one said. “Get it right or you’ll pay.”

Time was on Noct’s side, and unfortunately, these guys knew it.

The camera’s red light flashed on again.

Noctis started to read. He squinted his eyes and said, “I… am… Noc-tis… Lu-cis… Cae-lum…”

* * *

A potion was enough to fix the gash on Gladio’s head, though his hair was still matted with blood. He didn’t care. 

Noctis was out there somewhere, _in danger,_ and Gladio wasn’t at his side. It had been far too long. The bastards could be doing _anything_ to his charge, and he was too far away to do him any good. 

His father had forced him to return to the Crownsguard’s intelligence HQ, with the promise to deploy him as soon as they had information they could act on. He paced the row behind the bank of computers, the intelligence officers all chattering on their headsets, tapping away at their machines, watching camera feeds and following trails through the market district.

Noct’s phone had been found abandoned somewhere just outside the immigrant district, which was enlightening, but not enough of a clue. Gladio clenched and unclenched his fists and paced more.

Useless. He was utterly useless. 

“We’ve got something,” someone said from a far corner of the room. Gladio was there in an instant, ignoring the bustling around him as a grainy video image was projected on a larger screen. It was a security feed from a local business; there was very little to see, but the small figure being carried between the larger ones was a familiar shape.

Gladio made a frustrated growl.

“We’re getting another signal,” someone else said from the opposite side of the room. “It’s live.” Another video, a much less grainy feed -- and in the video was Noctis.

He was bound to a chair, and was looking directly at the camera. Mostly directly. His eyes seemed to be scanning something just to the right of the camera. And he was speaking. The audio kicked in. 

“... Caelum. My… father… the dic-tay-tor… has… Ow.” He winced and glanced somewhere offscreen. In a tight, quiet voice that the mic barely picked up, he muttered, “These ropes are too tight.”

Whoever was offscreen hissed something the mic didn’t pick up at all. Noctis blanched, and started reciting again. (He was definitely reciting. Or reading something.) “My father… the dictator… has done… nothing to…” 

“Those bastards,” someone said. “Making a child do this.”

Gladio’s fists clenched hard enough that his nails bit into his skin. 

“We’re triangulating the signal of the security feed and--” 

The technical babble faded into incoherency while Gladio focused on Noct’s face. The kid had guts, he knew. That face… there was fear there, but not as much as there maybe should be.

“Hang on, Noct,” he muttered.

* * *

Noctis absolutely kept the grin he was feeling off his face. 

_“Ease the_ _suffering_ of _immigrants,”_ the tall one was hissing through clenched teeth. “What’s so hard about that? ‘My father the dictator has done _nothing to ease the suffering of immigrants in Lucis.’_ You can say that much, can’t you?” 

“This is taking too long,” the short one muttered. “Can’t you get ‘im to cooperate?” 

“Oh, he’ll cooperate, all right,” the tall one growled. Then his hand shot out and before Noctis could duck, the guy grabbed him by the hair. Noctis couldn’t help the gasp that passed his lips, or the way his face contorted with pain. 

The tall guy leaned in close, his gross breath puffing right in Noct’s face. “You can get this right, or I’ll send you back to your sweet papa missing some fingers.”

The short one chuckled darkly. 

The grip on Noct’s hair relaxed, and the tall one leaned away again, and Noctis took a deep breath to clear the smell of the guy’s breath out of his nose. This was taking a not-to-great turn. These guys were starting to make him nervous. He just needed to drag this out a little longer. Just a little longer.

They turned his chair to face the camera again. “Just like I told you,” the tall one said. “We’re live, and you’d better get it right this time.” 

The camera’s red light popped on again. 

“Er…” Noctis started. “My father… the…” 

He forcefully rolled his eyes and went boneless. His chair teetered, and then toppled over. He landed head first, and only just kept himself from crying out. That was going to bruise, he knew. But he had to hold the facade, at least long enough for these two creeps to think it was real.

The two guys cried out and footsteps came for him right away, and rough hands righted the chair. Someone patted his face. “Hey, kid, wake up!” 

Noctis let himself blink. The tall one was right in front of him, his expression almost worried. “What happened?” Noctis mumbled. 

He must not have gotten it quite right.

The tall guy’s face twisted with fury, and he back-handed Noctis across the face. 

The chair fell again, and this time Noctis hit his temple hard. Light flashed behind his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t see anything. He blinked up into the harsh fluorescent light.

“You little toad,” the tall guy said. 

“What’d you do that for?” the short one said. 

“He’s tryin’ to waste our time,” the tall guy said. 

“This isn’t gonna work.” 

“I know that.” The tall guy grabbed the chair and swung it up, and Noct’s head throbbed. He groaned, and it was completely real this time. “We’re just gonna have to deliver the message ourselves, but we’ll give them something exciting to look at while we deliver it.”

* * *

The broadcast kept cutting out -- usually when Noctis said or did something off whatever script they were having him read. _Buying time,_ Gladio thought with no little pride and a lot of fear. That kind of thing could backfire if the captors lost patience with it. When the broadcast was out, the whole room would scramble to trace the information that was trickling in from their sources. Another security feed gave them a good view of the van the captors were using, and they were currently attempting to track its path through the city streets.

The feed came back again, and Gladio crowded in with the other Crownsguard around the monitor again. 

This time, Noctis had duct tape over his mouth -- but it didn’t cover the reddened abrasion on his cheek, or the goose egg forming on his temple. Noct’s eyes looked pretty dazed, but also defiant. Whatever was going on, he was fighting them.

“You go, kid…” one of the other Guards said, with a fistpump. 

Gladio couldn’t cheer. He couldn’t, because _Noctis was hurt._ His eyes went straight to the bruises and he couldn’t look away. 

A disembodied voice was saying “... If he doesn’t accede to the demands of the Galahdian Liberation Coalition--”

Someone cursed, and a bunch of people started typing. That narrowed down their list of culprits. Then someone from another corner of the room piped up. “We’ve got it! A warehouse down on…” a string of instructions followed, and Gladio paid just enough attention to them to know where they were going. He caught his dad’s eye. Clarus Amicitia nodded at him.

He barely heard the order; just followed the flow of Crownsguard. “... The Galahdian Liberation Coalition claims the following…” the unidentified speaker was saying as they left the situation room. Gladio paid no attention. He moved with single-minded focus. 

_I’m coming, Noct._

* * *

The kidnappers finished their little spiel. Then the short one said, “We’ve gotta get outa here; they’ll be on us in a minute.” 

The tall one didn’t disagree. 

They dismantled the camera equipment before they did anything with Noctis. His hands were completely numb by the time they untied him from the chair. The rush of blood back to his fingers was a relief -- and also painful, when it settled into pins and needles. They didn’t give him time to rub life back into them. They quickly retied his wrists together.

The tall one ripped the duct tape off Noct’s face, and he couldn’t help crying out. 

“Next time, maybe consider being a little more cooperative,” the guy said. 

There wouldn’t _be_ a next time for these guys, if things went well. But they dragged him from the room and down a corridor. They were moving quickly, which meant that they knew they were being traced. Noctis stumbled on purpose. He needed to give the Crownsguard the time to get there. 

“Oh no you don’t,” the shorter one said, and bodily hefted Noctis over his shoulders. Noctis tried going boneless, but that didn’t really work, from his current position. He tried kicking and screaming.

The tall one cuffed his head. “Don’t think we won’t do damage,” he said. “I know you guys have healing magic up there at the Citadel. Doesn't matter how we hurt you; they’ll fix you back up.”

Noctis stilled. That wasn’t really how their healing potions worked, but he wasn’t about to say that to these guys. Healing potions’ effectiveness was largely influenced by how quickly they were administered. The older the injury, the less effective the potions would be, because the body would already be starting its own healing process.

They tossed Noctis into the back of a van without being careful. He hit his head again. Too many more of those, and he’d be in real trouble. The van rumbled to life, and they were on their way.

Noctis wasn’t secure back here, and with his hands tied, he had no way to brace himself against the van’s movement. Without windows, Noctis had no way of seeing where they were or where they were going. He tried keeping track of the turns, but he quickly lost count. 

Then one of the kidnappers yelped. The van swerved, and Noctis could feel the vibrations as it accelerated. His captors' chatter grew alarmed, and they were driving way faster than they should on surface streets. The occasional jerk and swerve told Noctis that they were probably speeding… all signs that they were being pursued. 

Noctis felt grim satisfaction, tempered by growing fear that he didn’t want to admit was there. The van swerved again, only this time they took whatever curve they’d hit too quickly, and Noctis slid across the floor. He tried to brace himself with his feet when the van leaned precariously close to the tipping point underneath him. It righted itself just barely before it lost its grip on the road. 

There were several more swerves like that, and each time, Noctis used his legs to try to keep himself from sliding across the floor. He was at once excited and terrified. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if the van crashed with him in it. 

Then there was one swerve too many. A screech of tires. The van leaned too far as it pulled into the turn and Noctis felt himself slide as the tires on one side left the road. 

Then there was chaos.

Noctis thought the van was rolling, and he was barely able to lift his bound hands over his head. There wasn’t any way for him to stop himself. The van rolled and he rolled with it, and the instant his shoulder hit the side of the van, all he could think about was the pain. Then more pain, as the van continued to roll. He tried to duck his head, but the chaotic movement made it nearly impossible to protect himself.

All the training in the world couldn’t keep him from banging against the sides of the van as it rolled. He thought there was noise -- but he didn’t realize how _much_ noise until it was silent, and the van rocked itself to a stop underneath him. 

* * *

The first crew of Crownsguard pulled the kidnappers from the wreckage, but it was Gladio who pried open the crumpled back door of the van and found Noctis there. It took all his restraint to keep himself from dragging the prince out before the paramedics could check him for spinal injuries. 

Instead, he crouched as close as he could get. “Noct,” he said. “Hey, Noct. You awake?” 

Noctis didn’t move at all. He was too still. Gladio swallowed his alarm.

“Hey,” Gladio said. “Don’t move just yet; we’re gonna get you out of here. Hang tight.”

Noctis still didn't move. Gladio couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

The drivers were argumentative and belligerent and it took all Gladio’s self control not to pull himself out of the van and deck them both. The only thing that kept him from doing it was Noct. Noctis needed him. He’d be there when Noctis woke up, since he hadn’t been there for him when it counted. 

* * *

Noctis woke slowly. Everything felt fuzzy. He thought he might be in pain, but he was too fuzzy to really be sure. He was staring at a white ceiling, and he’s pretty sure that wasn’t the last thing he was looking at, but he couldn’t remember. His thoughts were slippery.

Something was beeping in the background. Something stiff held his head so he couldn’t turn it.

He wanted to get up, but he couldn’t make his arms move. He tried, and his breath caught with the effort, but to no avail. 

“Hey, you with us?” 

Then Gladio was leaning over him. He looked tired, and there was dried blood on his face. Noctis wanted to say something about how a prince’s Shield really should keep up appearances, but for some reason he couldn’t form words. In fact, it was really hard to keep his eyes open, even though he’d only just woken up. He wanted to tell Gladio to get some rest so he didn’t have such bad bags under his eyes, but instead his eyes fell closed. 

When he opened them again, Gladio was gone.

This happened several times. He opened his eyes to see his father there, holding his hand, and then he blinked and it was Ignis, asleep in the chair by the bed. One moment, afternoon light was pouring into the room, and he blinked, and the windows were dark and his bedside lamp turned on. The equipment around him shifted, sometimes there were people there and sometimes not. 

Always he was laying down, always his limbs seemed outside his control. Always he felt the distant throbs of pains -- in his shoulder, in his leg; his old injury in his back, and new ones in other places. His head. Sometimes everything throbbed more. Sometimes everything was hazy and distant. 

Once, there was a cluster of people in doctor’s coats discussing the importance of setting bones properly before healing magic was applied. Then he woke to find himself being wheeled down a bright hallway. He watched three or four fluorescent lights pass before he blinked slowly and opened his eyes to find himself in a broad room. 

His father leaned over him. “Noctis?” he said gently. “I’m here. They’re preparing to set your femur, and then we should be able to use an elixir. They wanted to wait until your concussion was in better shape, but if they wait too much longer, the elixir won’t be as effective.” 

“Dad,” Noctis managed, but it was thin and faint. 

His dad smiled, and squeezed his hand. “Hang in there. You were very brave, son. You did just as you ought.”

“W’s there an… accident?” Noctis mumbled. 

“There was. You’ll be fine. Hold on just a few more minutes. They’ll put you under to set the bone, but then we’ll use an elixir, and when you wake back up, you should feel a lot better.” 

Noctis could feel himself falling under already. There was something urgent he wanted to say, but it died on his tongue, and his eyes slid shut again.

* * *

With Noctis in and out all day, Gladio had nothing to do at all, except mope around Noct’s hospital room. His dad finally sent him home and insisted on him showering to get the blood off, and changing into something fresh and comfortable.

Gladio resisted, naturally. He’d already failed his prince once today; he didn’t want to fail him again. But his dad assured him there would be round-the-clock monitoring, that he himself would be on hand until Gladio returned. Mollified, Gladio finally gave in and went to shower. 

And he really needed it. 

Feeling more alive, he returned to the hospital wing of the Citadel just as Noctis was being wheeled away for surgery. Ignis filled him in on everything that happened in his absence (a lot of nothing, really), and he took up vigil in the empty room, waiting for Noctis to return.

He was startled awake by a team wheeling Noctis back in. There were fewer wires attached, but he still was asleep, and looked so tiny in the bed. Gladio couldn’t help remembering the video of him tied in the chair; bruised, with duct tape covering his mouth. 

Because Gladio had failed him. 

He somberly waited for Noctis to wake up. 

* * *

This time when Noctis woke there wasn’t the throbbing pain. He seemed to remember his dad saying something about feeling better when he woke up, and that was absolutely true. His head felt better, his shoulder felt better, and his leg… the only thing hurting now was his back, but that was an old familiar pain, not a new one. 

He shifted and a groan escaped him before he could stop it.

“Noct?” 

Noctis cracked his eyes open and turned his head so he could see the chair next to his bed. It was Gladio again, and he looked awful. Like he hadn’t slept -- and like he was upset about something. Noctis knew from experience that an upset Gladio was a menace to himself and everyone around him. 

“Hey,” Noctis said, and his voice cracked. 

Gladio lurched forward and grabbed a straw cup from the side table. He even held it for Noctis while he took some long draws from the straw. His throat was so dry. The ice inside rattled as he drained the cup. 

When he finally pulled away, Gladio set the cup back on the side table. “I’ll get it filled again in a minute,” he said.

“Y’don’t have to,” Noctis said. 

Gladio pursed his lips. “Noct, I--”

“You look terrible,” Noctis broke in. He didn’t want to hear Gladio’s apology. He probably would have to at some point; if he kept interrupting, Gladio would probably chew him out.

In fact, Gladio’s brow was already pinched with frustration. He wasn’t yelling yet, though. “Yeah, it’s been kinda hard to sleep,” he said instead. “Look, Noct, I--”

“How long have you been here?”

Gladio gave him a Look. “I got here just as they were taking you back to set your leg. Noct--”

“When was that?” 

Gladio made a frustrated sound. “Like, three hours ago?” 

“Where were you before that?” 

“Dad sent me home to get clean. Noct, I--” 

“Where’s Ignis?”

_“Noct.”_

Yeah, Noctis knew he wouldn’t get away with that for long. He shifted and tried to sit up, but his back twinged. He winced, and leaned back again. 

Gladio winced, too. “Noct, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to say that.” 

“Yeah, I do. I failed you. I should have been more alert, but I let myself relax too much and they caught me by surprise. If I’d been doing my job right, they never would have caught you, and all this…” He waved a hand at Noctis. “... wouldn’t have happened.” 

Noctis just looked at him for a moment. “You did what you could,” he said. “Everyone gets caught off-guard now and then. Even your dad.”

Gladio huffed. “Not _my_ dad,” he said. “Some shield I am…”

Noctis straightened. “Hey,” he interjected. “You’re a great shield. Look, you found me as soon as you could.” 

“I should have been right there with you.” 

“But… they knocked you out.” 

Gladio blinked. “Well, yeah. But… you saw that?” 

“I turned around and you were on the ground already. Your head was bleeding. Then they put a cloth on my face.”

Gladio’s head sank to his knees and he groaned. “I’m never gonna live this down,” he said.

Noctis said “Pffft,” before he could stop himself. But then he was tired again and found himself sinking back into the pillow. But this seemed important. “You found me,” he said. He had a vague memory of pain, and of Gladio’s voice saying _‘Hang tight.’_ “You were there. You’ll _be_ there.” 

His eyes were slipping closed again. He’d been told that the elixir would drain his energy while it accelerated the healing process, and he supposed that was true. 

He heard Gladio make a sound. “You better believe it,” Gladio said. “I’ll always be there for you.” It was a promise, and Noctis felt it in his bones.

Then Noctis felt Gladio’s hand take his own and squeeze. He relaxed, knowing his Shield was there. Would come for him, even when things went wrong. 

He slept.


End file.
